Zara Stoneley - Bridesmaids

‘You still there, Rach?’

‘I am.’

I take another quick photo and forward it.

‘Aww, aren’t they the cutest! Which one is yours?’

‘None of them!’

‘You’ve got to keep at least one.’

‘No, I have not!’ But I might. ‘They are props. I’m supposed to be taking photos for Queen Coral.’

‘Aren’t you always!’ She laughs, but it’s a little bit strained. My job is definitely a vocation. Nothing nine-to-five about it at all. ‘She never struck me as a kitten type of person, though.’

‘She’s not. She wants me to take a picture of her flaming lipstick and an apple, the kittens were my idea, a kind of peace gesture.’ I shrug. ‘She can take it or leave it.’ I flop back further into the cushions. ‘Do you ever wish you hadn’t started something?’ One of the kittens stretches out in its sleep, tiny toes splayed, and I can’t help it. I stroke its cute pink pads, and its paw curls round my fingertip in a baby hug. I want to kiss those tiny toes, that little nose. I think this is the closest I’ve ever felt to maternal. ‘I think I need to ditch the felines and concentrate on the apple. Still-life is a bloody sight easier.’

‘And since when did you do easy?’ I can hear the smile in Rachel’s voice.

‘True. Look, soz, Rachel, but I suppose I better get on with this and at least take the shot she’s after before I lose the light. I’m expecting her to call soon with a new set of demands.’

‘Yeah, sure! I just wanted to catch you before you jetted off, check you were okay and tell you,’ there’s a slight hesitation in her voice, ‘I’ve got some news. Big news.’

‘Big?’

‘Mega!’

‘Tell!’

‘I can’t! But something exciting has happened, crumbs I hope you’re as excited as me! I think you will be, well, I hope …’

‘Rach! You can’t do this to me! Of course, I’ll be excited. Tell!’ Even if the actual thing doesn’t excite me, the fact that Rachel loves it so much will mean I will, too – for her.

‘I’ve got to. You’ll never guess! But you mustn’t, no, no don’t even try, I’m not telling you! I can’t tell you on the phone, I need to see you in person. Face to face, so I can check what you think.’ I smile to myself. I love it when Rachel is excited, she makes the whole world seem a brighter place. It’s infectious. ‘I just,’ she hesitates, ‘need to know you’re okay with it. You might be …’

The silence lengthens.

‘Be what?’

‘Upset?’

‘Why would I be upset? Rach, you’re worrying me!’

‘Soz. I don’t mean to, I mean it is good, honest, just a bit, well, I need to see you when I tell you. When are you back, Jane?’

‘You’re honestly not going to tell me? You’re going all weird on me, and not telling me?’

‘Nope. I want to tell you in person.’

‘FaceTime?’

‘In real person! How long are you here for when you get back? You’re not going to tell me you’re zooming off straight away again?’ Rachel runs out of steam and sounds breathless. Giddy with excitement, as my mum would say.

‘No, I won’t be zooming anywhere!’ I laugh a bit self-consciously. I might, or might not, have mentioned to my mate (well, all my mates, and most of my family, and everybody I know on Facebook) that I am about to jet off on an important business trip to New York. I couldn’t help myself, it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.

‘Promise? We can meet up as soon as you’re home?’

‘Promise.’ I won’t be going anywhere, apart from work, for quite some time. My credit card is totally maxed out because I’ve been on a massive spending spree.

For a moment I forget about my lap full of kittens, and I even forget about Andy.

I’ve been buying clothes for the trip . Talk about excited, I’ve never been to New York before, I’ve never set foot in any part of the U. S. of A. This is the trip of a lifetime, well worth a new outfit or six. ‘We can meet up the moment I get back.’

‘So, you’re back on the 25th? Can you make the 26th? Or will you have jet lag?’

‘I’ll be fine, the 26th is great.’

‘Brilliant! I need to see you, Jane! How about we meet me at that new Jax Bar in town at 7 p.m.?’

I’ve known Rachel for years, since we bonded over a stolen ciggie (yes, I packed them in years ago) behind the bike sheds at high school after we’d both found out we hadn’t got tickets to see the Spice Girls.

We were in different school years, but right then it didn’t matter.

I was eleven, coming up twelve, and Rach had already hit that milestone. And back then she seemed way, way older than me. She was an August birthday, just into the second year of big school but one of the youngest, and I was a September birthday, one of the oldest in my year but still trying to find my feet. A newbie to the scary, big world of high school. But that day we gelled.

I had a sneaking suspicion that my Dad hadn’t actually tried very hard at all to get the damned things. It was probably his idea of hell being surrounded by screaming teenyboppers leaping around as bubbly Emma Bunton and Scary Spice strutted their stuff round a Christmas tree (although thinking back, maybe not). But, anyhow, I’d found out over toast and marmalade that I had lost possibly my last ever chance to see some real Girl Power live and I was in a strop.

So was Rachel.

It was a defining moment, our own small act of Girl Power defiance, as we wagged Wednesday afternoon PE and stomped on the weed-ridden tarmac, punching the air and yelling ‘Tell me what you want, what you really, really want’ at the top of our voices. I reckon we got a far better work out than we would have done with Ms Stainton and a wooden horse in the freezing gym.

We were mates after that. In school she had her gang, and I had mine, but we’d walk home together, hang out at weekends and as we got older the fact that we were in different school years mattered less and less. By the time I walked out of those school gates for the last time, we were inseparable. Joined at the hip, as Mum laughingly said.

After school we were closer than ever for a while, but then she started spending more and more time with her boyfriend Michael, and I made the decision to move further south with Andy when he got offered a better job. Then I took on a job that involved loads of travel and unsociable hours, so we saw less and less of each other, even though we’d gas on the phone for hours sometimes. It’s not like we’re miles from each other, but life can kind of get in the way, can’t it? But Rach is always the person I tell first about anything. Well, anything major, my flatmate Freddie often finds out the minor stuff first these days, because he’s there. In situ. As in, on our shared couch.

I told Rach I was engaged before I’d even told my mum. She helped me pick my dress, the flowers, the bridesmaids, even my undies. Then she was the person who put me back together again when it all went wrong.

She took a week off work and camped out in the flat. Then she left strict instructions for Freddie and made sure she rang me every single day when she went back home.

‘Oh, come on Rach! What’s so big you can’t tell me over the phone?’ I shake my head and can’t help but smile.

‘I’ll tell you when I see you, it’s a surprise! I know I shouldn’t have mentioned it now, but I couldn’t help it. Now, are you all ready for the trip?’ This shows how excited she is – Rachel is a very considerate, caring person. Asking about my trip would normally have been her top priority.

‘Nearly! I’ve just got to do this one shot and then I’ve got two days off before we go.’

‘Wow, the mighty Coral has given you time off?’ She giggles, and I join in. The hours I put into this job (and the crap I put up with) are ridiculous, but I see it as an investment. This is my apprenticeship. One day, I won’t be the un-credited photographer for a glossy Instagrammer, I’ll be taking the photos I want, my way. But for now, as my only qualification is a GCSE in Art and I can’t afford to take time out and do a course, this is my way in. Along with my role as unofficial pet photographer for the local animal rescue centre. I’m working on that one though. Pet Portrait-er might not have the same ring to it as Photographer to the Stars, but I reckon it’s a good second string to my bow. There will always be dogs, right? And it has to be easier than taking pics of babies. Or cats.